


Spring Fever

by nautilicious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/pseuds/nautilicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://redscudery.tumblr.com/">redscudery</a> requested: "I'd like to see John with spring fever- acting a bit silly and giddy because it's been a long winter or he loves daffodils or something- and Sherlock being a bit puzzled but drawn in by this uncharacteristically fizzy behaviour. Kissing or smut or fluff can ensue."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/gifts).



“Christ, is that the sun?” John asked. He pulled the curtain aside and ignored Sherlock’s mumble of annoyance. Bright light streamed through the window. John felt his spirit lift to see it after so many dreary, wet days. 

Sherlock pulled the covers over his head. “John, make it stop!”

John grinned at his bleary-eyed detective. “Not a chance. I’m going outside.”

Sherlock waved his hand at him and turned over. John doubted he’d go back to sleep, but perhaps he’d get some good thinking time in. John clattered downstairs and made some tea, then flung open the sitting room window. The air felt cold and smelled of the city's fumes but John didn’t care. Sunlight dappled the rug and the couch, pressed warmly against his skin. 

After his tea he took a stroll through Regent’s Park. Leaves drizzled down the branches of a few trees, curled tight but as green as his winter-starved eyes could wish. He even spotted a daffodil turning its face to the sun, and its sweet scent brought him back to every spring afternoon he’d loved.

By the time he returned to the flat his cheeks hurt from smiling. Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, peering over a case file. He did not look up when John entered. John went to the sink, humming under his breath as he filled the kettle. He shuffled his feet in a little jig.

“Must you?” Sherlock asked.

John turned around, grinning, and sang the words: “Spring has come, said bumblebee. / How do you know, asked the old oak tree. / I just saw a daffodil / dancing with a fairy on a windy hill.”

Sherlock blinked. “Nursery rhymes?”

John shrugged. “My mum used to sing it to me in the springtime. The weather is gorgeous and the park was lovely. It makes me happy.”

Sherlock looked bemused but fond, so John added, “You make me happy, too.”

Sherlock’s expression softened, taking on the combination of vulnerability and delight that most often was his response to John’s declarations of affection, and John beamed at him. He felt effervescent, fizzy bubbles of joy rising up in his chest. He pushed Sherlock's chair back from the table and sat in his lap.

“It’s spring, Sherlock. Everything is beautiful. Especially you.” John feathered kisses over Sherlock’s face: his eyebrows, one after the other; the tip of his nose; the bottom of his chin. Then he grazed his lips over Sherlock’s in a soft and sweet kiss.

Sherlock kissed him back, relaxed, until John darted his tongue playfully over his bottom lip. Then he reached up and gripped John’s arse. “I’ve never seen you with spring fever before,” Sherlock said, “but I approve. Spring is mating season for most animals, you know.”

“Oh, how romantic,” John said, slowly grinding down into Sherlock’s lap. “I’m up for mating. On one condition.”

Sherlock nibbled John’s ear, his breath gone erratic. “Anything—reasonable,” Sherlock said.

John laughed, his own breathing unsteady as he continued to press himself against Sherlock’s hardening cock. “You’ve got to take a walk with me. Outside, in the sun. And you have to smell some flowers. Maybe even wear one in your lapel.”

Sherlock nodded. He palmed John through his trousers and John groaned. John pressed their mouths together and writhed in Sherlock’s lap. They celebrated the rising sap, bursting gloriously into flower simultaneously, before they even made it upstairs.


End file.
